A Time of Reflection
by staceycj
Summary: Ichabod shares a story of a Christmas long ago.


Jenny and Abbie were cleaning up the last of their Christmas meal, the meal they had prepared at Corbin's cabin, the one the Crane lived in but had done little to make his own. For some reason, the fact that Ichabod hadn't take down any of Corbin's family photos, or even so much as removed Corbin's coats from the closet bothered her, and tonight of all nights it bothered her very much it seemed to represent just how temporary Crane felt in this world, like a guest just visiting and on his best behavior; a guest in a world in which Abbie felt as if he was a native and they shared residence on an island that was populated by so few.

"Crane was quiet at dinner." Jenny said as she took a plate from her sister. "No rants about how we've screwed up what the founding fathers fought for, not even so much as a comment about Jefferson or Washington." She rinsed the plate, gave it back to Abbie to dry. "He didn't even mention Katrina tonight."

"I know." Abbie said softly. "I noticed that too."

"Is he okay? He get that big head of his knocked especially hard in that last fight or anything?"

"Nope." Abbie said shaking her head. "Not even a scratch. He seems to get injured less when he is using a sword."

"Eh. Makes sense." Jenny said and let the water out of the sink. She turned and looked behind her, where Crane was sitting by the fire.

"He looks lost."

"He is lost Jenny. He's lost in time." Both sisters looked at him, watched him lean close to the fire, his hands clasped loosely in front of him, all of their usual fluid motion gone replaced with stillness. His face was expressionless, tired and plain. None of his usual energy, none of the usual life, none of the usual anything in his posture, his expression, or demeanor; it was like they were simply looking at a shadow of the past.

"Crane? Want some holiday cheer?" Abbie called holding up a bottle of alcohol. He startled and slowly turned to look at her.

"Pardon me Miss Mills. What did you say?"

"You want some holiday cheer?" He blinked and nodded.

"That would be nice, thank you." Abbie and Jenny gathered glasses and chairs and pulled them up to the fire. Crane stood and offered one of the young ladies the nicer chair he had been occupying. Both declined and he sat back down without a comment or word of protest.

Abbie poured each of them a drink and passed them around. Crane simply looked into his glass.

"What's the matter?" Jenny finally asked.

"I beg your pardon?" Crane asked.

"You've been off all night. You haven't ranted and raved about anything, you've been quiet."

"And you didn't eat much at dinner tonight." Abbie added. She paid attention to his eating habits, sometimes she worried that he was too thin. She was afraid he was going without for whatever reason his chivalrous 18th century mind thought he ought to. And after reading up on the Revolutionary War, and after learning about how soldiers went without food, water, and even shoes, she had found herself sitting on her couch with tears rolling down her face. Now with Crane by her side, a walking talking representative of those who fought for her freedom, suddenly those nameless faceless soldiers in a history book suddenly looked like Crane, and the thought of him going hungry, or going without proper shoes in the middle of a harsh winter made her heart ache.

"I am so sorry ladies. I did not intend to spoil the evening's festivities with my reticence." Abbie sighed inwardly trying to understand his apology. In addition to reading up on the Revolution, she had been reading up on SAT vocabulary, those seemed to be the words he preferred.

"Penny for your thoughts." Abbie said.

A hint of a smile crossed his lips. "My current thoughts are not even worth half such an amount."

"You thinking about Katrina?" Jenny asked sitting back on the chair, pulling her feet up underneath her.

Crane paused for a moment before answering. "I suppose in a way I am. But she specifically has not been occupying my thoughts." He turned back to the fire and his lips turned into a sad smile. "I was simply reminiscing about Christmas past, Christmases in England in my father's house. What it used to be like…when…" he stopped, shook his head, lose tendrils of hair brushing across his cheek bones.

Jenny waited for a second before she blurted. "Used to be like when what?" she asked.

"When I fit." He said softly. Abbie blinked forcing the tears back. Crane never talked about not fitting into this time. He blustered about things, ranted about things, but talked, shared what he felt, that wasn't something he had done.

"What were Christmases like at your father's house?" Abbie asked deciding that it was time she took an interest in Crane's life before he showed up here. It was time to let Crane talk about his life without a snarky comment, it was time to ask Crane about his life, time to get to know what made him truly happy, what moved him when he was younger, when he wasn't completely out of his depth, when being educated and from a good family meant more than what pair of Nike Air Jordan's you owned, or what brand of cell phone was due out before Christmas.

He gave a smile. "Oh they were grand times. He and my mother always had a splendid party. Family and friends gathered on Christmas eve to our home, our lovely lovely home." He paused, a weary happiness clouding his eyes. "Mother and father would dance, and smile. Oh how my mother would smile. She would have a new dress tailored. Every year it was either red or green, but the last year before I went to Oxford she had a dress made of white and gold. It was magnificent." He sighed.

"And then on the night of Christmas day we would all gather by the fire and my father and mother would take turns reading passages from the Bible, or reading poetry."

"I bet you miss them." Abbie said softly.

He shook his head. "I miss those memories of them."

"What do you mean?" Jenny asked.

"My father and I had a falling out. A rather large falling out. It resulted in my disownment, and because, in my time, women followed the lead of their husbands, my mother disowned me as well. Even if I were to go back, able to go back I suppose is a better turn of phrase, I would not be welcome in my father's home." He took a sip from his glass. "I do not even know if my parents were notified of my demise. And even if they were, I'm not entirely certain that my father would have cared." His voice trailed off. Abbie watched as his Adam's Apple bobbed, he was swallowing back tears if she had to guess.

She reached in the back of her mind, trying to find some platitude that she could offer, something that she could give him to make him feel better, to take that sadness out of his eyes, but everything she came up with seemed fake, false, empty. She couldn't do that to Crane, offer him empty words, he deserved more than that.

"I can't imagine wearing a corset." Jenny interjected into the silence. Crane looked up at her sharply and a smile slowly spread across his face. He saw her comment for what it was, something to jar him from the memories that were threatening to sweep him away, carry him back to that faraway place, that far away time, a time in which he was no longer a part, a time where there was no hope and no way in which for him to get back—back to people he was sure wouldn't want him back anyway.

"There was a fair amount of fainting from corsets I suppose. Plus it did cut down on the amount one could eat, that probably also accounted for a lot of 'spells' women suffered from as well."

Abbie laughed. "I like me some food way too much for that!" Abbie said purposefully butchering the English language, because she knew it would make Crane rant. And rant he did. Ranting was much better than watching him drown in sorrow, or God forbid cry. She wouldn't be able to take it if he cried, her tall strong Revolutionary War hero, who called the internet the nintnet, or couldn't stomach an energy drink, who would protect her with his life, would protect her sister with his life, who desperately wanted to fit, but couldn't…no, she couldn't stand to see him cry.

They spent hours talking about this and that, avoiding the topic of the end of days, and just enjoyed one another's company. Crane insisted that the sisters stay, that it was late, they had had libations and it was time to rest. He also insisted that they take the two beds in the cabin, and he would partake of the couch. Each woman protested, but he would hear none of it.

Abbie had just about settled into sleep when she heard a knock on her door. Crane entered, carrying a candle, hair undone from its tie, falling across his face and onto his shoulders. He did not look directly at her, "Miss Mills." He started.

She sat up in bed, "You can come in Crane, I'm not naked." His cheeks turned pink. He entered the room farther, and still did not look upon her.

"I just wanted to thank you and Miss Jenny for everything you did this evening. It was nice to be able to talk about my family."

"Anytime Crane." He nodded and started for the door. "Crane?" He stopped.

"Yes Miss Mills."

"Merry Christmas."


End file.
